To Boldly Go
by T'Lorie
Summary: Ordinary missions have a habit of going sour when Sheppard and McKay are involved, but this time it wasn’t their fault. Warning: deathfic.


Title: To Boldly Go.

Author: T'Lorie

Rating: T

Spoilers: Not a lot, minor recognition of events in season one and Siege III and Intruder.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, Stargate Atlantis and all the characters, plots, and ideas associated with it are the property of someone else.

Summary: Ordinary missions have a habit of going sour when Sheppard and McKay are involved, but this time it wasn't their fault. Warning: deathfic.

**To Boldly Go**

Death, it was always there, he'd just never really given it much thought. Preferring to wait until it was right in his face to worry about all the little details like who, what, where, when and why.

Why was probably the one that was in his mind at the moment.

A simple mission, why did stuff like this always happen to him? And the irony was that this time it really wasn't his fault.

Okay, they'd trespassed, but they hadn't actually been aware it was trespassing until after they'd been arrested. The espionage one was also hard to understand considering they weren't a part of whatever war this was. John winced as the ropes cut into his wrists again and decided that the assassination charge was getting kinda old as well.

The sudden sharp prodding of a gun butt in his neck forced him to his already battered knees, the motion sent stabbing pain through his thighs and he winced. The fact that his hands were tied tightly behind his back made it impossible to have any sort of balance and a shove forced his face downwards. Oh yeah, this was getting old.

Hunched and uncomfortable he stared at the ground for a moment, the gravel really wasn't comfortable and it was uncomfortably hot and bright after the darkness of the cell he'd spent the last day and a half in.

The captors, whatever their name weren't exactly into civil liberties. Where was Kavanagh and his Geneva conventions now?

He heard a grunt of pain and caught sight of McKay, as he was forced into the same position as John. The physicist was breathing raggedly through his nose, trying to get control of his breathing. He could see that McKay had faired worse then him. There was a dried path of blood down the side of his face; his hair was matted with it and wherever the wound was it was still oozing blood.

"You alright McKay?" Sheppard whispered out of the corner of his mouth, his jaw ached from the one of the lessons he'd had in talking back from his interrogator yesterday. It wasn't bad but it hurt something serious.

Interrogation, if you can call it that. Asked questions and demanded answers he didn't understand, and when he'd tried patiently to explain that no they weren't here to kill anyone, that this was a mistake and could they please give him his scientist back, they'd get violent, reminded him of Afghanistan.

McKay didn't reply or appear to have heard his question at all. He seemed to be concentrating his breathing. Sheppard noticed quickly that he also seemed to be shaking, just occasionally tremors.

"McKay?" John's question was sharper attracting the attention of the guard behind him. The heavy butt of the gun got him just above the kidneys and he groaned, fighting the sudden pain and bile in his throat.

Rodney turned his head slightly, catching his eye. Sheppard caught sight of a large bruise running the length of his face. Rodney's eyes seemed very bright but his skin was very pale, too pale, almost sickly. He blinked slowly and offered a small tight smile.

John took a deep breath, thanking the stars that Rodney was still with him. Though his friend didn't look well, he didn't look dead and that was always a good thing. Sheppard's friends had a habit of ending up dead.

At the sound of crunching gravel underfoot, John fought the urge to look up; the cold rifle against his neck a good deterrent. So he stared at a lump of dirt not a foot from his nose instead. It was just ordinary dirt, on an ordinary world, so why did he suddenly have an irrational hatred of it?

He shifted slightly; Elizabeth should have missed them by now, even if Teyla and Ronan hadn't gated back already. There would be parties out looking for them, scanning the planet from cloaked puddle jumpers, teams scouring where they were caught. Weir would be standing on the balcony overlooking the gate room ready to give them the scalding from hell when they were brought back. That's if they survived Beckett of course, at times the Scottsman was worse then the Wraith.

A pair of brightly polished shoes stepped into view, pausing for a moment to convey something to the other pair of shoes before turning to face them. The midmorning sun beat down on the back of his neck, sizzling his skin while his wrists ached from the twisted angle that they were tied in.

Shiny shoes, as John decided to call him, paced again for a moment. John watched them hover on the edge of his vision before they stopped back in front of his face.

"You have been tried and found guilty under the emergency wartimes act of high treason, espionage and attempted assassination of our most exalted leader." The voice was sharp and had that air of command that John recognised, but it also had an air of a bureaucracy that he instantly didn't like, "You are both herby sentenced to death at noon today. Take them to the execution area."

Whatever John had been expecting, execution hadn't really featured prominently until this point.

"Hey wait a minute." He said, ignoring the gun and his previous encounters with it, "You can't do this." He pushed back so that he could sit back on his haunches, but the butt got him again in the kidneys and he was forced into the dirt. Coughing for a moment he tried to crane his head up to see the man silhouetted against the sun. Shiny shoes was looking down on him with a slightly bored and contemptuous look.

"I can do anything I want. You are a tried criminal, therefore I execute you. Guards." He nodded to the soldiers behind them. John struggled for a moment, trying again; he had to force some sort of sense into this guy.

"Listen. I tried telling your goons that we're travellers here, through the Stargate, your Ring of the Ancestors. We didn't know you were at war, if you just let us go, we'll leave and not come back." Before he finished his sentence he knew it was fruitless, this guy was just another bureaucratic commander, like so many the worlds over, John might as well be talking to the wall he'd been shouting at the past day and a half.

"Not my problem." Shiny shoes turned and crossed over to the other shoes. The guards hauled him up by his arms, jolting all sorts of pains through him that he hadn't even realised he had. He exhaled sharply as they jolted his ribs marching him off. As they left he heard Shiny Shoe's comment; "Short and sharp Captain, we've got some touring VIP's arriving any moment. I want a display of efficiency."

"Yes Sir." The Captain gave a weird salute and marched towards a small building, across the parade ground, leading the way.

John craned his head around to catch a glimpse of Rodney, a few paces behind him. The scientist didn't seem to be putting much of a fight, normally he'd be complaining like hell. Silent Rodney was something new.

Shoved into the small brick shed, John felt immediate relief to be out of the sun, even if the force of the push had sent him to his knees in the dirt again. The hard packed dirt floor, brick walls and metal roof didn't really encourage any thought of escape and the guards positioned on either side of the door weren't helpful either.

John struggled over to where Rodney was hunched over, though with his hands still tied he couldn't help much. "Hey McKay." The bright blue eyes looked up and John got his first good look at his friend. He looked terrible; his face covered with blood from the head wound and a few big bruises, his eyes looked sunken and his skin was deathly pale. His uniform was covered with mud, dirt and twigs, and tattered at the edges, like his but it seemed that there was something more.

Rodney closed his eyes and shook his head as if trying to clear a fog; then blinked at John before collapsing back to lean on a wall. He glanced sullenly round at their room before closing his eyes wearily again.

"Rodney, if you don't tell me what's wrong I'm going to abandon you to Beckett when we get back." John said with a bit more force this time, trying to add in his familiar air of humour. It seemed he spent most of his time trying to shut McKay up, and now he was trying to get him to talk. Sure, they were been held captive by a bunch of neo-nazi megalomaniacs, but that was no excuse.

"You wouldn't." Rodney said tiredly, his voice oddly strained.

"Try me."

There it was again, that weird little half smile. He worked himself into a sitting position, and mumbled something.

"What was that McKay?"

"I…I hit my head," he licked his lips, "And I haven't eaten."

"Hypoglycaemia. Shit." John swore, putting two and two together, "I didn't..."

"It's alright Colonel," his eyes met John's, "they're going to kill us anyway."

"They're not." John said sharply, trying to convince himself as well as Rodney, "Don't think like that."

"Colonel..."McKay started tiredly.

John looked at him before scanning the room for something, anything. Silence stretched for a moment. He could hear what was happening in the barracks outside. There was marching, yelled orders, a car pulling up. Voices.

For once John whished Rodney was wrong, but he was always right and John knew that this was the case now.

But he still didn't want to think about it, even if all the details of who, what, and where had fallen into place. He wanted to change them, to have control over his own life, his own death. Which is why he'd taken up flying.

Flying, he wished he could have flown one last time, to feel the pull of the G's, the hum of the engine, the crack of the sound barrier.

He wished he could ride the Ferris wheel again, around and up so high he could almost touch the sky.

He wished he could see his friends on Atlantis, his new Family one last time.

John looked back at McKay, huddled against the wall shaking as his body shut down from low blood sugar. Rodney, the egotist, arrogant, self-obsessed, card-carrying genius who stood up against a knife wilding manic, faced down a wraith to save his life, and constantly came up with crazy ways to save the world as he knew it. He turned out to be one of the bravest, selfless and heroic people John knew.

John grinned at him, and Rodney returned his grin, despite the tremors running through his body.

"Thanks."

"It's cool, what are friends for."

They could hear gravel footsteps coming up to the door, the sound of a lock being undone. John swallowed and struggled to his feet, difficult with his hands still tied at his back. The door opened and bright light streamed in, he squinted even as the guards grabbed him again, dragging him back out into the sun.

The sun was hot and very bright, the occasional tree but mostly just buildings around the wide parade area. There was a whole platoon of men standing at arms, Shiny shoes was to the side of them, talking with a several men in a different, dark grey uniform.

He and Rodney were escorted across the parade ground and pushed back against a plain brick wall of some building or other. Their hands were cut loose, and John rubbed his wrists absently, taking in the sight around him. The wall already had chunks out of it; they definitely weren't the first to suffer this fate. The firing line was about 20 paces away, all men at attention.

So this was how it was going to end, just like one of the old spy movies. James Bond had always managed to get out of these situations. Why wasn't John able to? All that kicking Wraith butt, the defence of Atlantis, to be ended like this, a firing squad on a backwater planet, millions of light-years from home.

"Well, so long Rodney." he said, "It's been fun."

"Yeah..." Rodney replied, "It was wasn't it. Thanks Colonel."

"John."

"Thanks John."

John met Rodney's tight little smile with one of his own. He looked back at the firing line. Shiny shoes was there with his VIP's, waiting.

Every muscle in John's body was waiting as well. Waiting for that final order.

"READY!" the command went out. As one, the line all set their rifles.

"Any last words?" the Captain asked, the next order poised on his lips.

The familiar question, tradition galaxy over, almost made John laugh; he turned slightly and winked at Rodney,

"The final adventure 'eh, to boldly going where no one has gone before."

He heard McKay's chuckle as if it was his own. "I'm all for it."

"AIM."

The world went suddenly silent. This was finally it. Death.

"FIRE!"

And John didn't hear the one that got him.


End file.
